


One Victor

by Hijackedvictor



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijackedvictor/pseuds/Hijackedvictor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if only Peeta survived the 74th annual Hunger Games?</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Victor

My name is Peeta Mellark. I am sixteen years old. I live in Victor Village. I was in the games. I survived. She did not. She ate the berries. I did not. 

How long have I been awake? I can’t even remember the last time I held my eyes closed without the picture of her being devoured by those mutts flood my mind. Or covered head to toe in welts and bumps from tracker jacker stings. Or that time Clove carved beautiful designs on her naked, lifeless corpse. 

I am not okay without her here.

I rise from the bed that, no matter how plush and inviting it is, never offers any real help. I go through the normal routine of my morning, put on clean clothes, brush my teeth, comb my hair. Things normal people do. That's what Dr. Aurelius says will help things go back to normal but things will never go back to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore.

It’s three in the morning but I know I got all the rest I could possible bear. I cross the hall into a room splattered with paint and immediately I’m thrown back into the games. To my left I can see Katniss perched on a tree eating an apple but when I turn right I see her burnt body. Why can’t I stop drawing these scenes? As if they provide some kind of relief of her death. They come to me at night. Those small moments of sleep are flooded with different ways she could’ve died. Maybe poison is a good way to lose. I can still see her crumpled body lying on the green grass.

“Trust me,” she mutters as she lets a few berries fall into my frozen hands and then her own.

“On the count of three.” I place my lips on hers, just to feel the warm soft skin pressed against mines one last time. Then I turn around, my back pressed against hers. Us against the world. The star-crossed lovers.

“On the count of three.” I repeat. I can feel her hand squeeze mine.

“One,” she starts.

“Two,” I continue.

“Three.” I close my eyes with the berries barely touching my lips when I hear the cacophony of trumpets and then Claudius Templesmith announcing the winners of the 74th annual Hunger Games. 

My stomach drops along with the berries and I wipe any juice from my lips with my sleeve making sure there is no trace of the poisonous fruit. I turn around to congratulate her. To hug her. To kiss her. We won, we actually won. Although what I see isn’t the face of a victor but of a tribute. A dead one.

She is lying on the ground with her braid making an “S” shape next her head. Her eyes, which moments ago were filled with life and fire, now lifeless and cold. Her lips are stained dark purple from the berries. 

“Katniss!” I scream but I know it’s futile because she gone. Like the 23 other tributes, she’s dead. I hear the hovercraft coming for her now but I throw my body over her lifeless one. I’m not done with her. I can’t just let them take her like she’s some other tribute. She’s so much more. She’s mine. How can she be gone? 

I’m stuffing my fingers down her throat to try and rid of her body of the poisonous plant. Her body isn’t reacting. I’m putting my fingers in again when I freeze and them I’m being pulled up by some kind of force. If I’m screaming I don’t hear anything. I’m just staring at Katniss’ dead body. She wasn’t kidding. She really could be sleeping. If people sleep with mouth wide open and her eyes staring straight at you. Judging you. How could you let me die? 

I’m thrown into a hard cold floor where I black out. I almost forgot I’m bleeding out from a gaping hole in my calf.

I’ve drawn it again.

Except this time Katniss is covered in bite marks. Huge bite marks all over her body. On her shoulder, her hip, stomach, even her face. There are chunks of her body missing too. Her entire right leg is gone and bleeding out. Her left breast is nothing but a hole now. Instead of lying in a field of grass she is floating on an ocean of blood. 

This is art.

I drop my red-coated brush on whatever it lands on. I should probably care about the mess it makes considering this flooring most likely costs more than District 12 itself but I only want to hide anything Capitol made.

In the kitchen downstairs there is some premade dough just begging to be kneaded and so I let it have some relief.

Her back is so soft and malleable, this is the first time I’m giving her a message so I have to make an impression. She deserves only the best.

“Oh man, Peeta, you’re so good at this. I guess all those years making bread turned out to be some use.” Katniss lets out a chuckle while I just sit there, kneeled over her, soaking in all the life she radiates. My legs are straddled around her back hips and I lean forward to kiss her neck. My bare chest lying on her exposed back. I’m trailing kisses down her shoulders and on her spine. My hands wander all over her, finding new areas to touch but the more I touch her the colder she gets. Maybe it’s because this cave is freezing. I try to warm her up by rubbing my hands up and down her back but she only grows icier. Starting to panic, I turn her over and I see those dead eyes looking at me but not. Judging me. “We were suppose to protect each other,” they say. 

I jump off her, screaming like an animal. There’s no evenness to the scream and it’s growing hoarse. How long have I been crying? When there’s no sound coming out of me I lay in the fetal position in the corner of the kitchen next to the trash can. 

I see a small hole in the wall across from me and I stare at it. Wanting to be like the mice crawling in and out of it. To be able to escape this arena I’ve been stuck in for too long. 

It’s been a least a couple of hours since I’ve moved because the sun is starting to rise and when I get up my muscles are stiff. I return to the bread I was working on but back away as if it were the poisonous berries.

Pulling out the bread I made yesterday, I heat it up in the oven for a few minutes. I can’t show up empty handed. 

With about three loaves of bread in the basket, I head down to their house. It’s early morning now so they should be awake and getting ready for the day. Placing the basket neatly in front of their door, I run to hide in a nearby tree. I know they know it’s from me but I can’t stand the idea of confronting her family.

Prim opens up the door and picks up the basket like she’s been doing every morning since I’ve returned. She looks around trying to find me, to see where I went but she’ll never see me. Prim starts to tear up but returns inside her home.

For the first couple of nights, Prim and her mother visited me in my new house to say thank you for the bread and the few coins I left them. Of course they tried to return the money but I insisted. It’s blood money. Instead they give me goat cheese, which I’ve decided to make cheese buns with. They continued this for a couple of weeks before simply dropping of the bread was sufficient. Sometimes I like to add in some sweets for Prim, like cookies or a cake with an elaborate design. I remembered how she loved those.

I know Gale must be taking care of her family now but I want to help as much as I can. To help ease the pain as much as possible. I’m still deciding if it’s their pain or mine. I go with both. 

I do it for me.

For them. 

For her.


End file.
